Requiem
by dinkydow
Summary: They went out with a bang!
1. Chapter 1

Title: "Requiem"

Title: "Requiem"

Author: Dinkydow

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Category: Missing Scene

Pairings: some Jack/Sam

Content Level: M

Season: 10

Spoilers: "Unending"

Warnings: Hankie will be needed. Minor character death.

Summary: They went out in style – with a bang.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions do. I won't make any money out of this venture and will put the characters back the way I found them when I'm finished . . .mostly.

Author's Notes: This was a scene that begged to be written, though I'll have to admit that I avoided writing it for as long as I could because it involved saying goodbye to a character that sprang from my own imagination. But then I realized there might be a way out – considering the universe that I dabble in. This is my sequel to the episode, "Unending" and my tribute to the Asgard, our little gray buddies. Thanks to JoleneB for her beta skills. Her expertise serves to enhance my paltry efforts. Thanks also to Sabine Bauer, aka Doc, for the writing tips she offered me as a wanna be author at Gatecon 2008. Your achievements inspire me to reach for the stars and follow my dreams.

oOo

**Chapter One**

Eir of the Asgard, or Ernie, the name he'd been given by his friend, the famous Jack O'Neill, sighed heavily – the sound seemed dredged from the tips of his toes and it's mournful sound only added to his misery. With an effort that further drained energy reserves that had previously bordered on the infinite, he forced himself to focus on the problem at hand.

The news was not good. In fact, to borrow an earth term, it sucked the big one. And his puny attempts to postpone the inevitable would not change what was to be. He might as well talk about it, especially since his friend, Heimdall looked to be carrying the weight of their world on his thin shoulders.

"You are certain of your findings?" Ernie already knew the answer, but had to ask anyway. His hand dropped in an imploring gesture, it met with something smooth and warm – something that was jarringly different that the powdery-soft skin he'd expected.

This thought snapped his focus forward, for it was a med-pack attached to his hip, larger than the small disk affixed to the Asgard before him. Whereas his monitored and controlled his erratic heartbeat, Heimdall's kept a vital artery in his neck from collapsing, just a stopgap method to postpone the inevitable. Just as his was a vivid reminder of his own medical diagnosis of impending major organ failure.

He, his friend, and increasing numbers of Asgard, were being kept alive only by means of their medical technology. He knew it was a symbol of his own, and by extension – that of his race's attempt to cheat death of its due. And that death would not be denied.

As a medical professional, he was not used to being on the receiving end of his own expertise, and as such had been informed by his colleagues that he was not exactly a model patient. He didn't mind though; who could argue with the truth?

"There is no doubt," Heimdall blinked, his obsidian eyes glistened with a suspicious overabundance of moisture, his left hand made an abortive move toward the medical monitor on his neck as if to check that it was real and not a figment of his guilt-ridden imagination. "I wish it were not so."

"You can say that again," Ernie shook his head and then waved away his fellow Asgard. "And no, you really don't have to do that . . ."

"I too am aware of the Tau'ri's use of colorful metaphors – that one in particular," Heimdall's words were spoken in an affronted tone, causing his monitor to glow slightly.

"I beg your pardon, my friend." Hesitant, his hand hovered in mid-air, uncertain of its reception.

Heimdall shrank from his offered touch, his eyes wide and full of self-recrimination. "You would still call me your friend? Even after this?" His widespread hands seemed to encompass more than just the two occupants of the room.

"It's not your fault," Ernie's sigh gusted into the air.

"I believe it is." Heimdall's words were uttered with reluctance as if he had to physically pry them from his tongue. And they were laden with an all-pervasive guilt, which permeated the air and made it hard to breathe.

Ernie blinked to distract himself from the miasma that threatened to drown him and his friend_. 'Focus on something, positive, Ernie. Do what Jack would do. And for crying out loud, don't let Heimdall be alone. He might do something . . .'_ his thought slammed to a stop as he realized the irony. _'Do what? Kill himself? Do himself harm? That is the least of your problems, or of your friend's for that matter. What would it matter if he were to suicide a mere few minutes ahead of the rest of us?'_ He savored the thought, rolled it around his mind like he had seen Jack do with a piece of pie before he allowed it admittance to his stomach. _'It would matter to me, and to my friend,'_ he realized. _'He must not be alone, I will not allow it.'_

"But why?" Ernie tipped his head to one side, mimicking another Tau'ri mannerism that reminded him of better times. Times when they all had a future and his race controlled the universe and its inhabitants.

Heimdall took his time to answer, and when he did, his tone was flat, as if he lectured a slow but well-meaning child. "The Asgard High Council entrusted me with the task to save our race, and instead my meddling has ensured the death of our kind. You yourself are only alive with the aid of our technology – as am I," he gestured to the small, once again glowing, med-chip that insured an unimpeded blood flow to his anguished brain.

"No, it's not your fault, and I won't let you go on believing that your actions have brought us to this." Ernie all but bounced in place in frustration.

"But, it is the truth." Somber black eyes gazed back at him and Ernie sobered, his last stymied bounce muted to a mere twitch of his shoulders. With it, the dancing light of his med-pack monitor slowed to an evenly spaced unwavering line interspersed with slight elevations to let the wearer know that all systems were normal – for now.

This time, Ernie did not resist his urge to offer comfort and placed one hand on his friend's shoulder, "No, not all of it. You know as I do, that decisions our race made, in the interest of extending our individual lives through cloning, brought us to this."

Heimdall echoed his earlier sigh but said nothing for a moment. What could be said? When he did speak, Ernie's heart lurched with disquiet.

"Will you stay with me . . . until the end?"

Ernie nodded and smiled toothily, his shiny gray skin pulled tight around his small bud of a mouth, "Of course, that's what friends are for."

oOo

Lost in thought, Thor hurried through the empty corridors of the Hall of Judgment, the center of the Asgard government. He rushed to a meeting that would only end one way, in the annihilation of his entire race.

Only a month ago, he would have been jostled from side to side by others bent on their daily tasks, as this was a main thoroughfare that led to the council chambers. The sound of his footsteps echoed eerily in the empty corridor, ghostly reverberations of times past. He reflected that it was odd how he had never previously had occasion to notice that particular architectural function of the curved walls that surrounded him. But then, there were a great many things that he had taken for granted – many things that he could no longer ignore.

His thoughts were grim as he reviewed the recent history of the Asgard, their search for an answer to the problem that cloning had caused. He found it ironic that they had been the author of their own destruction. The mighty Asgard – the race that had stood between the Goa'uld and their intent to dominate the galaxy – had been defeated by their own machinations. Their avoidance of the ultimate equalizer – death – had the result of gifting that foe with so many of his race at one time.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears and caused his vision to gray around the edges; he paused, one palm anchored onto the rounded wall, and struggled to catch his breath. The cool firm surface steadied him – physically and mentally. He shook his head slowly as he fought his body's urge to slump to the floor, apparently his visit with the Tau'ri had taken its toll on his failing body.

His tiny mouth opened in the caricature of a grimace as if to deny the reality of his physical weakness. He had been warned that the consequences could be fatal if he chose to appear to the Tau'ri without the med-pack that monitored and regulated his failing cardiovascular system.

However, because of the adverse effects that his altered appearance would have had on his friends from Earth, he had elected to make the trip without it. He still firmly believed he had made the correct decision, even if he had shortened his own life by a few hours.

He forced an unsteady breath of cool and curiously stale air into his laboring lungs and, thus prepared, pushed himself off the wall and continued on his way at a slower pace, his rubbery legs keeping him mobile for the moment. This was one appointment he could not afford to miss.

'_For centuries, I lived as if there were no end to my tomorrows. Now, I discover that I have extreme difficulty envisioning a universe where we are absent – a future where I do not exist.' _His mind shied away from such depressing thoughts and sought recourse by reviewing his schedule for tomorrow. When it encountered a blank void prefaced by a deadly reminder, he was brought face to face with what he had tried so hard to avoid.

"Crap," the imprecation left his lips before he could stop it and his fingers fluttered in the air as if he could physically gather it up and stuff it back inside his mouth.

'_For the first time in my life, there is no tomorrow – not for me – not for my people. How ironic that I – who held the post of Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet for more years than I can count – am absolutely powerless to stop the juggernaut of impending destruction that bears down upon us.'_

He shook his head at his dark thoughts, as his mind searched in vain for a way out of the mess they had created. _'Perhaps Jack O'Neill could find a way to extricate us, or maybe Samantha Carter could envision an escape. In the past, she proved particularly adept at finding solutions that we had overlooked,'_ he stopped in place, his head tilted to one side as he considered it.

Then he resumed walking, as he shook his head in sorrow and rejected it – again. _'No, according to long range scans, The Odyssey is closely pursued by the Ori. The Asgard High Council decided that they would not ask the Tau'ri for assistance because they cannot risk that the Ori might confiscate our technology. That would be disastrous.' _

His chore completed, he had only just beamed from the Odyssey. There had been barely enough time to finish the transfer of their entire database – let alone finagle a last minute reprieve for his race._ 'We have run out of time, and even the redoubtable Samantha Carter could not save us from our own folly. As Jack O'Neill would say, our goose is well and truly cooked, and there is nothing that anyone can do about it.' _

Jarred from his thoughts, he discovered that his feet had brought him to his destination while his thoughts wandered. Thor stood in the center of the arena and faced his colleagues who occupied the surrounding seats.

His eyes zeroed in on Freyr's impassive face and at that instant, he knew he had no choice but to deliver his news at once – succinctly and to the point.

"I have just returned from the Tau'ri vessel. They were very appreciative of the gift, but were quite . . . disturbed when I informed them of the reason for it."

"They must have known of our dilemma," Freyr stated solemnly, his obsidian eyes no longer held the luster of years past, as he leaned into the back of his command chair. His chin drooped lower until it rested against his thin chest. It was clear that he had little time left, regardless of their impending actions. Even their medical technology failed him . . . and others.

"They were aware of the effects of our practice of cloning, but I believe they hoped we could find a solution." Thor paused, "This willingness of theirs to seek out solutions in the face of certain failure has long fascinated me. It is my judgment that this makes them most suitable to assume the mantle of the Fifth Race."

"You spoke of this to O'Neill?" Thor had to strain to hear the words that were uttered, so frail Freyr had become in just the last few time-periods.

"No, he was not present, but I did inform one that will most certainly pass this information to him."

"Colonel Carter?"

Thor nodded in reply. "Yes, the very same."

"An excellent choice." He motioned weakly, then let his arm fall back to his lap where it laid there, a suddenly too heavy appendage.

Thor blinked and forced his eyes away from the show of weakness, back to his leader's face. "I believed it to be so."

"The Ori . . .," Freyr's whispered warning gusted through lips that barely moved; his eyes widened slightly as he struggled to focus on the console in front of him. His chest heaved once, twice, before his gasps returned to a shallow regularity that could barely be discerned.

For a startled moment, Thor feared his friend and leader would be unable to draw another breath, so he finished the sentence. "Have arrived?"

Freyr's nod seemed both a confirmation and thanks for saying what he had lacked the strength to utter. One raised finger granted him leave to continue. Thor could not help but compare the present with the past. Gone were the days when their greatest orator could expound for days on end about the destiny of their race.

"It is happening just as we feared," Thor gestured acceptance with one hand. "All is in place; we only await your word, Freyr."

Thor watched from his vantage point as Freyr paused, his ragged breaths filled the amphitheatre as dulled charcoal black eyes sought the face of each of his colleagues. In those that had the ability to return his gaze, he saw nothing but grim acceptance to carry out their decision. However, there were those in their circle who did not – could not – respond. For those, the battle had already been lost as their limp unmoving forms could attest.

"Let it be done, then. I wish . . . that those of our race not suffer . . . unduly because of the arrogance of our ancestors." Freyr's last oration ended with a settling of his chest and then his chin drooped, eyes half shuttered. The only evidence that life remained was in the slight movement of his hand as it came to rest on the console in a single final gesture of defiance. To the last, the Asgard would control how they lived . . . and died.

That was the signal for the home world of the Asgard to be obliterated by a blinding flash of light; seen only by the departing Tau'ri and Ori vessels.

If they had lingered, they might have noted several glowing orbs, whose pulsing tendrils writhed and intertwined in incredulous wonder as they rose from the drifting cinders – all that remained of the Asgard home world.

To Be Continued


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

General Jack O'Neill re-read the latest message from the Odyssey, currently somewhere in deep space. Where, they were exactly . . . well, there was root of his problem. He was clueless as to that, and so was everyone else at Stargate Command. And he had asked – though some would probably describe it as demand – repeatedly. No one knew here they were exactly. . . The last time he'd called, Walter had even sounded . . . apologetic. In short, he'd run into a dead-end in that department. And he hated those things.

'_Bad choice of words,'_ he reminded himself nervously, '_very, very bad choice. Keep positive thoughts, Jack. Don't go there – not now, not ever.'_

With what seemed like a gigantic effort of will, he returned to the problem at hand. Where the heck were they? He mentally reviewed what he did know, which was . . . squat, zip, nada, a big fat zero.

What he did know was that the one person who could pull a rabbit out of her . . . whatever . . . and tell him right down to the square millimeter was . . . out there . . . on that danged ship. . . in space . . . somewhere. Which brought him back to where he'd started, imagining all the bad things that could happen, and he could imagine a whole honkin' lot of 'em

So he switched gears and tried to picture himself there . . . with Sam . . . in space . . . somewhere . . . instead of flying a desk deep in the bowels of the Pentagon. That exercise in positive thinking lasted for – he glanced at his watch, and tapped its face, _'Yep, the danged things was still ticking away,'_ – all of about fifteen seconds.

'_Crap, this is so not working.'_

He stared off into space and muttered, "I don't know how you did it all those years, George. Sending us out – there," his hand waved vague circles in the air, "and waited for us to come back home, hopefully in working order." That train of thought had direct connections to places he'd sworn he wouldn't go, and he bit his lip, determined to think about something else – something positive.

Jack read the brief communiqué again, hoping to catch some hidden nuance in the terse message.

"_To Stargate Command: Met Supreme Commander Thor in orbit around Orilla and Lieutenant Colonel Carter installed their technology into our ship's computer. Odyssey is making the jump into hyperspace with the Ori in pursuit. Major General Hank Landry, USAF"_

His hand snaked around to rub the back of his neck to loosen the corded muscles there. Massaging them seemed to make no impact at all on the cables that had taken up residence there He tipped his head back and let his BDU shirt collar chafe against his skin. Apparently, the laundry had put enough starch in the danged thing to enable it to stand up on its own and salute the stars that signified his rank. Not to mention what the starched trousers were doing to his ass.

Like lemmings bent on hurling themselves over a cliff, his eyes zeroed in on the one thing that was bent on driving him around the bend – the message that still lay in the middle of his desk. It was like having his own personal black hole; it was the center of his universe and everything gravitated toward it until it was inexorably sucked in.

"Oh, for crying out loud," he flicked his fingers against the paper and it crackled back at him causing him to scowl. Despite his best efforts, he hadn't been able to get anything more out of it than the first ten times he'd read it. "What the heck does this mean, anyway?"

He scrubbed his face with both hands with the vague hope that while he wasn't looking, the paper would either, A – disappear . . . or B, – morph into something he could better understand. Peeking from behind splayed fingers, he spied the offending message. It hadn't changed one bit.

'_What makes this whole danged thing worse, is that I can't even call Landry on the phone and chew him a new one for losing my team__; __mainly because Hank is there – on the Odyssey with the rest of SG-1 – where I should be instead of here.' _

His eyes appeared to grow dark with worry as he stared off into space and took a trip down memory lane._ '__Maybe I should have turned down the President when he offered me these stars. God knows I've hated being 'the man'._ Jack mentally hooked quotes around the hated phrase as his hands flipped and flopped over his internal discussion of the pros and cons of his past decision. _'And I don't care what the Brass say. I'm not that good at it, not nearly as good as George was.'_

He pursed his lips and crossed his arms in front of his chest, as he mentally took a stand._ 'What it all boils down to is that I'm here and Landry is there . . . with my team – no, what used to be my team – and I'm stuck with waiting for them to come back home – or. .__ .'_

"Crap," he grumbled under his breath, "You don't listen so well, do you? Don't go there, Jack." He sighed and knuckled his eyes. "Don't even think of going there."

Desperate for a distraction, he leaned back in his chair and winced when it squealed in protest. "Well, ain't this just peachy?" he muttered with disgust, careful to keep his voice pitched low so that his secretary, who had the ears of a bat, wouldn't hear him. The last thing he wanted or needed right now was a lecture from her.

"Jeez, Hank," he muttered as he folded the message and then tapped his desk blotter with a corner of it. "What aren't you telling me?" He unfolded it again, but then put it down and palms flat on the grained wood of his desktop, pushed himself away.

"Time for a change of scenery; maybe that will help," he sniffed, wrinkled his nose in disgust, and looked around his cramped office, "Getting stuffy in here anyway."

Out of habit, one hand slicked down the tufted hair on the crown of his head that resisted all efforts to lie down. Then he attempted to loosen his collar and, careful of his chaffed skin – never mind where it was – he stood.

Donning his dignity like a P-90, and ready to face the world, and his secretary/pit bull minder, Jack circled his desk, and mindful of his chaffed cheeks, walked gingerly through his half-open office door, accompanied with the swish, swish of his starched pants. "Ida?"

"You bellowed, sir?" His secretary looked up at her boss with a partially lifted eyebrow, an expression that would have done Teal'c proud.

"No," he gulped and tried for his pant pockets, but missed, his palms skidded on the impermeable fabric. Funny how a retired Army Drill Sergeant could make him feel guilty over nothing. "Not really."

Based on the frown on her face, she didn't believe him. "Not much," he temporized as he rocked back and forth on his heels, hands furiously scrabbling with finding his pocket opening. That in itself was difficult to achieve, "Danged starch," he muttered. Jack was grateful that this irritant now gave him a reason to blow off steam; he glommed onto it like a spare ammo clip in a firefight.

"Didn't I tell you to tell the cleaners to leave the starch out of my uniform?" Chin held high in indignation, his hands rubbed the stiff fabric.

"Yes, Sir. I did." She eyed him over her glasses. "Don't tell me. . ."

Jack grimaced and nodded.

"The pants too?"

"Ya think?" he squirmed and tried to ignore the effects it had on his anatomy. Instead he tried to look the part of a much put-upon victim. She didn't look like she bought it though.

"Yes, they are a bit stiff, aren't they?" Ida tipped her head back and rubbed her chin, as if deep in thought. "Uncomfortable too, I'll bet."

"Oh, they're just right if I was built like an ironing board, but this . . ."

"No, Sir you most definitely do not look like an ironing board," Ida smirked, "so I can see how that would be a problem."

"You did talk to them, didn't you?" He looked injured – and was.

"Of course I did, Sir," she replied stiffly. "But the guy went on and on about how all the generals want extra starch – seems it makes them look more dignified."

"Well, tell him again . . . and impress on the starch-happy shrub that _this_ general hates the stuff." He stabbed his chest with one finger, but the effect was spoiled when it met with the starched cloth and skidded into a pocket flap. "I can hardly move and everyone can hear me coming for miles around," his arms waved to encompass the world in general, and the immediate area in specific.

He continued to pace and waved his hands in the air by way of demonstration, then stopped in frustration as the swishing of his trouser legs as they rubbed cloth against cloth – and skin – sounded his every move.

"I _swish_ for crying out loud." Hands planted on his narrow hips met with the impervious slick feel of cardboard and threatened to slide away, so he anchored them in place by hooking his thumbs in his pockets. "This is one general who does not want to _swish_!"

Ida's hand covered a snort that turned into a cough. "I'll do that, Sir."

Jack glared down at her and Ida's features sobered – the diligent secretary stared back up at him, but her eyes glinted with suppressed laughter. "Was there anything else?"

"No. . ." he cocked his head to one side as if in thought and rubbed his chin, "Maybe."

He smiled, showing off his dimple in a move designed to ingratiate himself into her good graces. It didn't seem to work with her though. Come to think of it, that ploy hadn't worked with Walter either.

"Well?" She hadn't moved, and now a look of exasperation had replaced her previous smile. Plan A was scuttled as a dismal failure so he opted for Plan B – a feint that led to a frontal assault.

"Heard anything more from the Odyssey?" The dimple showed itself again, in an attempt at sincere innocence.

"No, Sir, not since you asked me five minutes ago . . . or the minute before that," she added with a wry grin, and then rolled her brown eyes. "And no, I do not think it would be a good idea to call the SGC again. Poor Walter sounded like he was on the verge of a stroke the last time you called."

'_Crap, she's not buying it,'_ he gulped and opted for plan C – a strange concept called the truth.

"Oh. I was kind of hoping . . ." Jack hated the whine that had crept into his voice. When did that happen?

"I promise that I will notify you the minute I hear something, Sir." She sighed in resignation. "Listen, I don't blame you for worrying, I would too, in your place."

"Worried?" His eyebrows climbed to his hairline as one hand rose to thump against his chest but the effect was spoiled when it met the stiff cardboard of his shirt. "Me?"

"Yes, General O'Neill," Ida glared at him over her eyeglasses that perched precariously on the end of her nose, "You."

"It shows?" his question came out in a squeak and he cleared his throat nervously. _'Dang, so much for being the inscrutable Jack O'Neill, head of Home World security and first line of defense against the intergalactic bad guys,'_ he thought morosely.

"Ya think?" She frowned in reproof.

'_The woman was definitely picking up Teal'c's bad habits, not to mention his eyebrow thingy.'_

"It's not as if she can't take care of herself, you know," Jack fished a stray pen out of her pencil holder, ignoring Ida's abortive attempt to rescue it.

"You trained her well," Ida reassured him. "I should know, I read your reports."

"Oh, yeah, those," his long nimble fingers twirled the pen in a sequence of curves and loops, and finally ended with a double somersault into his waiting palm.

"Not to mention that she's a crack shot," she added.

"Yes, she is, isn't she?" The pen halted in his hand as he remembered how she'd nailed that swinging log and blown it to smithereens back on planet PR something or other. He smirked at the memory of the dumbfounded expressions on the faces of all those testosterone-ridden macho-type Jaffa. She'd made them look like idiots, but those Jaffa had it coming to them, especially their leader, who'd turned out to be an underhanded bottom-dwelling sneaky snakehead in Jaffa clothing.

When the phone rang, he jumped – then reached for it – but she grabbed it a nano-second ahead of him. "General O'Neill's office, this line is not secure, may I help you sir or ma'am?"

She paused and waved away Jack's impatient glare.

"Yes, Sir, I'll tell him immediately," her smile seemed to say _'I told you so'_ as she hung up the phone. "That was General Landry. The Odyssey and SG-1 made it home . . . all of them."

Jack's whoop of joy bounced off the walls of the room and out into the corridor, as the weight of the world seemed to evaporate off his shoulders. "Yes!" His hand pumped in a victory sign as he crouched, then bounced upward, "Never had a doubt in my mind that Carter would pull a rabbit out of her . . . hat again."

"Of course you did, Sir," Ida commented dryly.

O'Neill stopped his impromptu jig and stood stock still, his hands clasped dramatically over his chest, "You wound me, ma'am."

"Cut the bull, Sir," Ida frowned and rolled her eyes. "You've been a nervous wreck ever since you got that message and no one could contact her ship. If you knew what was good for you . . ."

"I'd what . . .?" Jack asked with a dangerous glint in his eye.

"You'd make an honest woman of her, and ask her to marry you. That's what," she paused, "Sir."

Jack's mouth fell open and then as he realized what she'd said, he shut it with a snap. "That I would, Ida. That I would," his jaw hardened as old worries reminded him of what he was – and who she was. "Do you think she'd have me? I mean . . . I'm not the best catch in the world – and what would a drop-dead-gorgeous genius like her see in a worn out ex-jet jockey with a few too many miles under the hood? Not to mention that she's a national treasure," he paused to savor the sweet memory of the last time they'd been together, a joyous smile of wonder on his face. "Did I mention that she's drop-dead-gorgeous?"

Ida looked at him, a look of disbelief on her face. "You're kidding, right?"

Her sarcastic comment snapped him out of his reverie of better times and Jack's eyebrows rose in mock consternation as he thumped his chest and then coughed, "Moi?"

"No, you probably aren't at that," she muttered half to herself. Then her eyes narrowed, "You know, for someone who's got as many brains as you do, you can be exceptionally dim at times."

Jack's eyes widened as he reeled from her accurate and deadly fire. His defense was a look of wounded pride. "It's what I do," he replied quietly with a shrug, hands searching for his pockets.

"You can't fool me, General. You've got a brain and you most certainly know how to use it. And as for Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter, she's nuts about you, you . . . you ninny!"

"Ninny?" Jack mouthed; mouth agape as she took him by surprise.

"Have you heard a single thing that I've said?" Her eyes narrowed.

Jack nodded, for once at a loss for words and reminded himself to put Ida in for a raise.

"Then I suggest you get down to the SGC and meet with the woman you love and ask her to marry you," Ida favored him with a knowing grin, "Sir."

Jack's gaze focused on the lintel above the door, seemingly lost in thought. His face lit up as if an idea had just occurred to him. "Yeah, maybe I should fly down to the SGC – a kind of welcome home thing. There'd probably be cake at a shindig like that." He considered for a moment, given temporary courage by Ida's assertion. "Yes, I think I'll do that," he grinned. "Me being a General and Head of Home World Security and all, that would be entirely in line with what I do, right? Besides, what's the worst that can happen?'

'_She can turn you down, that's what, you . . . sorry excuse for husband material.__'_

"You'll do fine, sir. Hold on while I make the arrangements for your flight," Ida picked up the phone. "You can even pilot one of those X302's down to Peterson while you're at it. It'll do you good to get out." Her gaze strayed to her very full inbox, as if to remind him that she had a job to do.

Jack sobered for all of a second and then scrubbed his hands together with glee as he thought about piloting the fighter. "Sweet! What would I do without you, Ida?"

She halted in mid-dial, her retort on her lips. Jack waggled a finger, interrupting her reply, "Don't tell me, I really don't want to know."

"Whatever you say, sir," She grinned and continued with her phone call.

oOo


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

'_Did you see what Colonel Carter did? Did you Thor?' One glowing orb of pulsating light bounced in place with excitement, its flickering tendrils intertwining with that of his neighbor. _

'_Yes, I did. And it was remarkable,' Thor answered as he allowed the unaccustomed touch of his Ascended Asgard colleague. 'She has proven herself most worthy to continue the work that we began and earned her place alongside O'Neill as a member of the Fifth Race.' _

_He hovered in a more sedate manner, his undulating tendrils of energy shone with a bluish brilliance that befitted his previous rank of Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet. Though that accolade was long gone, his overall experience in dealing with various races over the centuries had been of immense benefit when he found himself unexpectedly inducted into this new dimension. _

_To say that it had come as a surprise would be an understatement. He had truly resigned himself to the death he and his race had planned for themselves. So when he discovered that he was not dead and had instead ascended . . . it had been quite unexpected. The one thing he was certain of was that he was unsure of his exact feelings on the matter, and his continued state of ambivalence was owed in part to the ever-present Eir. _

_Thor gently disentangled himself so that he might conceal his sudden feelings of discomfort from the enthusiastic ball of glowing energy. Though he had grown accustomed to Eir's constant presence, his friend's unbridled passion regarding anything connected with the Tau'ri still tended to grate on his sensibilities. If he could borrow a phrase from O'Neill – and he believed his Tau'ri friend would not mind – the little guy got on his last nerve._

_Even as an Ascended Being, Thor viewed himself as being more knowledgeable than his impetuous companion. It seemed only natural that he would do everything possible to prevent Eir from invoking the ire of the Ancients who had long ago adopted the viewpoint of non-interference in the matters of mortals less than themselves. . . especially the irrational and primitive Tau'ri. _

_It had been only through the intercession of Oma Desala that any of his race had been granted the unexpected boon of ascension. When he attempted to remember his first contact with Oma, he only found vague feelings of puzzlement, confusion, and a sense of wonder. _

_The sense of wonder, he could understand. After all, he had to learn how to deal with a whole variety of sensations that he had never experiences before. However, he had concluded that his feelings of confusion were to be avoided whenever possible. _

'_After all,' Thor thought with some disdain, 'Supreme Commanders are not supposed to feel confused or puzzled.' _

_Eir snorted and Thor ignored his comment as beneath his dignity. Instead, he focused on the matter of their ascension. _

_Thus far, Thor had discovered only a few other Asgard that had been granted this reprieve. Oddly enough, the one common factor of those who had ascended had been their frequent interaction with the Tau'ri in the past. Freyr, Hermiod, and Heimdall had briefly joined them in the beginning, but had soon left for their own pursuits. Since no others of their race had made their appearance known to him, he had to assume that there had been no others. _

_In the interim, eavesdropping on Thor's thoughts seemed to occupy an inordinate amount of Eir's time, and as usual, he had added his opinion on that score. 'I agree with you, Thor. The only reason that the others ascended had to have been because they all spent a lot of time hanging around the Tau'ri,' Eir expounded for the tenth time in as many time periods. 'It just goes to show you that the Tau'ri were on the right track after all.' _

_Thor resisted his initial impulse to go elsewhere, knowing from experience, that Eir would only follow him and tried placation instead. 'Yes, Eir, you have said this before. Many, many times,' He sighed, his energies dimmed for a moment. 'And, much as I hate to admit it, I have to agree with you.' _

_Eir brightened and bobbed with excitement. 'I knew it!' _

_If Eir stayed true to his previous habits, Thor knew he was only getting started on his favorite subject, the stellar qualities of the Tau'ri in general; and O'Neill in particular. He only had to wait for it to begin. Once again, Thor was absolutely correct, to his chagrin. _

'_Their stubborn tenacity, boundless curiosity, and a passion for living life to the fullest despite their relatively short lifespan is something we could learn from. After all, we gave up the messy business of sexual procreation for the humdrum and far more predictable method of cloning to prolong our lives. And look where it got us,' Eir bubbled in his excitement. 'It makes you wonder just who is the advanced race and who is the primitive?' _

_Now, as in the past, Thor had been unable to refute that logic, but believed he could, provided he were given the time and solitude to formulate a rebuttal. Not that Eir would grant it to him, but it was a fond wish of his. Becoming Ascended did have its drawbacks, and one of them was his inability to shield his thoughts from anyone who was determined to see them. And Eir was very determined. _

_Eir flared a brilliant orange and chartreuse as he continued, his orb of energy bobbed and bounced with unconcealed enthusiasm. 'And you said she couldn't do it,' Ernie, as he still insisted on calling himself, snorted derisively. 'Are you sure she didn't have any help?' His yellow and orange tinged tendrils attempted to intertwine more closely with that of his friend, far more intimacy than Thor desired. _

_Thor blazed a fiery red before settling to his former brilliant blue. 'You know the rules here, absolutely no interference from us. Oma was absolutely adamant on this point, even you could not claim to think otherwise. And I fully intend to abide by their rules.'_

_Ernie's ebullient energy dimmed to a pale yellow and stilled for a moment, taken aback, as he remembered the warnings about what was allowed – and what was not. _

_Oma had cautioned them . . . repeatedly about the risk they incurred if they interfered in the development of the Tau'ri. They had been informed of the consequences that lay in store for those who chose to ignore that fundamental rule – expulsion. It had happened to Daniel Jackson…twice. And while it was tempting. . . very tempting – Thor did know that his present state was preferable to the alternative – being dead. Ascension had its perks and he certainly had no desire to return to the nothingness that he had envisioned as his future. _

_Moreover, he was certain that Eir, despite his failings and impetuous nature, also understood the risks and would behave himself, so long as he received adequate reminders of what would happen if he were to give into temptation. _

_As they had done for centuries in the past, Thor and Ernie had kept watch over Colonel Carter and the rest of the Tau'ri while they were trapped inside that time bubble. In particular, they had been drawn to the passion-filled struggle of Colonel Carter as she strove to save her shipmates from certain annihilation by the Ori. _

_Thor had been very impressed with her refusal to concede defeat, despite repeated setbacks – not the least being his hologram's insistence that what she proposed was impossible. Because of his long association and study of this promising race, he was keenly aware of how long it took Colonel Carter to achieve her breakthrough, and the toll it exacted on her mind and body. A lifetime's work, with very little time off for recreation, save when the haunting notes of her cello sounded through the space vessel that had become her prison. _

_And, Eir, being who he was, could not help but be drawn to observe Daniel Jackson and Vala, as they emitted another form of passion that colored the very air with its intensity. Their joining involved a form of physical intimacy that Eir had longed to witness for years, but O'Neill had not allowed it. The distraction had come at a most opportune time for Thor, and he was extremely thankful that it had occurred. If it had not, he would have needed to formulate something on his own. _

_So, with Eir fully engrossed in the romantic endeavors between the male and female Tau'ri, Thor was able to aid Colonel Carter in her search. If his hologram was able to provide assistance in her quest to save herself, her friends, and the technology that had been gifted them by his race, so much the better. So long as it was only his hologram – and not his new form of existence – he had not broken any rules. _

_No matter what Eir might think, he had not interfered. And he would not do so in the future._

oOo

Jack stood, which seemed to be the signal for everyone else seated to push back from the briefing room table. He took his time, memorizing the faces of everyone in the room. Despite what he'd just been told, Teal'c, whose swath of white hair gleamed in the florescent light, was the only one who showed signs of aging. Yet, the T-man had insisted that he told the truth. And in all his time with the Jaffa, he'd never had cause to doubt his word.

The news of the explosive end of the Asgard had been a bit much for him to digest. He still could not – would not – accept that the meddlesome but well-meaning race was no more. And as for his buddies Ernie and Thor – well he refused to believe that they were really gone. Surely they, of all . . . people. . . could have figured a way out of the corner they'd painted themselves into.

No, Carter must be – had to be – wrong. They weren't gone, and were probably just waiting to show themselves again, just when he least expected it. For all he knew, he might be beamed up before he left the room . . . business as usual with his little gray buddies.

Jack resolved to speak to Carter about this . . . and other things . . . when they had a private moment. As for her revelation that Thor had named them the Fifth Race – why was he not surprised?

Jack shook his head in wonder. "I'll admit I've heard some stories in my time, but this one . . . this one takes the cake, Teal'c." Jack smirked at his pun. "Speaking of which . . ." he paused meaningfully.

"Yes, sir, there is cake. And we've only been waiting for this debrief to end so that we could all dig in," General Landry assured him with a smile.

"For me?" Jack grinned and patted his stomach. "Then, by all means, let's eat."

He mentally crossed his fingers that Thor wouldn't choose that moment to beam him up, and stiffened, awaiting the inevitable disorientating flash of incandescent light. When nothing happened, he allowed himself to relax a hair, and focused his attention on the people in the room. After all, there was cake awaiting his attention – and _'other'_ things too.

As they filed from the room, Jack studied them, and the way they interacted with each other. They were a team, close – the way they had to be in order to function effectively as a unit. And that only reinforced the unavoidable fact that there was a gulf that had opened between him and them.

He was the outsider now, The Man. Mentally he hung quotes around the hated phrase that had come to symbolize everything he had rebelled against – and all of what he had become. He sobered for a moment, feeling very old and alone.

As he watched, Carter paused, glanced back at him and smiled, her eyes lit with pleasure at seeing him – as always it sent shivers down his spine and suddenly the world wasn't the bleak place it had been the moment before.

"You coming, sir?"

Carter was the perfect distraction from his worries. Her eyes were blue, the same color as the sky on a clear Colorado day in mid-Spring. The same color as the atmospheric envelope that ringed his home planet as viewed from space. That image recalled the first time he'd been beamed up to Thor's ship – and the still absent Asgard. That topic was one he preferred to avoid for now, since there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Nope, it was far less bothersome to focus on something pleasant . . . so Carter's eyes it was.

He decided then and there that he had to revise his list of favorite things, and Carter's blue eyes would be near the top of the list. First place was reserved for more private things, but the smile that lit up her eyes would do for now.

"Sir, are you all right?" Distracted from his private reverie, he took a good look at the woman who stood before him, her head cocked to one side.

"Yeah sureyabetcha," he beamed, his dimple showing for effect. "Never better. Let's get some cake."

Her presence was enough to help him shed the morose feelings of what was no more. While it was true that he was no longer part of SG-1, he was part of their history, and the training and wisdom he had given his team as their leader had paid off. His kids had grown up and were flying on their own. And that was as it should be – the natural way of things.

As he followed his kids down the stairs, he watched each of them, their banter, who they spoke to, and what was said. _'Yep, they made it, even without me_.' He winced as his knee chose that moment to protest the stairs_. 'Dang,'_ he thought with indignation. _'To think there was a time I used to climb these things several times a day and think nothing of it.' _

He shook his head and continued down the stairs, trying to ignore the ache of his protesting knee, while he placed a steadying hand on the rail_. 'Face it, Jack, you're getting old. At least Carter didn't see it. Wouldn't want her to think I'm getting old and decrepit, even if it's the truth.' _

Teal'c seemed to appear from out of nowhere, "O'Neill?"

'_Dang, his eagle eyes don't miss anything.'_

Jack feigned innocence but he changed his grip to a brush of the rail, and then raised his hand to brush his hair, hoping his friend had not seen his moment of weakness. "Yeah, T?"

"Are you in need of assistance?"

Jack shook his head and waved him away. "Nah, I'm fine. Besides, look who's talking. You look older than I do, but the gray is a nice touch."

"I am fine; however I find that I am no longer as limber as I once was. I suspect you have made the same discovery." A slight smile that turned the corners of his mouth upward made Teal'c's ebony face look much younger for a fleeing instant.

"Yeah, I have." He paused as he searched for the right words, "Tell me, T. What all really happened all those years? How many was it?"

"Approximately fifty years." The smile had disappeared and his face became impassive, guarded.

Jack's eyebrows rose, "Fifty?"

Teal'c inclined his head regally, "Years."

"That's a long time."

"Very."

When his friend did not elaborate, Jack tried changing the subject. '_What's he hiding? But then again, a lot can happen in fifty years – a whole friggin' bunch of things.' _

"How old does that make you?" Jack ticked off numbers on his fingers. "Let me do the math. Carry the two . . ."

"One hundred thirty years old."

"Wow! You don't say?"

"I have said it." Teal'c's eyebrow raised and the smile returned.

"And?" Jack encouraged him to elaborate with a wave of his hands.

Teal'c stopped and allowed the rest of the group to continue down the corridor without them, the smile gone as if it had never been. "You have questions?"

Jack nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look harmless. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"About what?" His hands clasped behind his back, his face was once more inscrutable and impassive as his dark eyes glittered stubbornly.

Jack paused and pursed his lips in thought. "What happened all those years? I mean, besides what you put in your report." When Teal'c raised one eyebrow, he took that as permission to continue and plowed onward. "I mean, you and I both know that not everything makes it to the mission reports."

"My report included everything that you need to know, O'Neill."

Jack cocked his head, "Nothing else you want to tell me?"

Teal'c shook his head decisively. "No, there is not."

Jack studied his Jaffa friend for a moment and then clapped him on the back as they resumed walking down the corridor. "I've missed you, my friend."

"As have I," and Teal'c's smile was genuine. "It has been many years since we first made our acquaintance. A great accumulation of liquid has passed under the river crossing."

"Water under the bridge, T. Water under the bridge," Jack grinned. "You ready for that cake?"

"Indeed. I have grown to appreciate your confection called cake. I heard that this cake was made to celebrate our return . . . and yours."

"I've missed this place. The place – and the people," Jack shrugged, "I'm not a part of it anymore, not like I was before. This place has changed and you've all moved on."

"As have you; you now do battle with a foe on a different battlefield – in Washington D.C."

"You could put it that way," Jack replied with an uncomfortable feeling that his friend could still read him like a book, even after all this time apart. "But they don't use bullets, zats, or space guns, and they certainly don't fight fair. There's times when I would prefer the bullets to what I do now. At least you know who your enemies are. In DC . . ."

Jack shook his head as he remembered the meetings where he'd had to fight tooth and nail for the funding the SGC needed, whereas the bean counters had no clue as to what was really going on there or why the money was needed.

"I too experienced this to be true when dealing with the Jaffa Council. More wounds were dealt to me by my own people than in all the years I fought our common oppressors," Teal'c shook his head sadly. "It was an experience that I would not wish to repeat."

"Yeah, well somebody's got to do it, and these stars on my shoulder says I'm it. So whether I like it or not, that's my job now."

"You are not happy?"

By this time, Jack and Teal'c had entered the Gate room where the Stargate stood, magnificent in its simplicity and promise. "Oh, life in DC has its moments, but I miss this place, the people, and the action. Believe it or not, what I miss most is going through that gate not knowing what or who is waiting on the other side."

Teal'c remained silent, and nodded.

'_You know, this is the one of the few people who I know really understands what I'm trying to say, even if I'm not completely sure of it myself,' _was the thought that ran through Jack's mind.

With a common thought, they both stopped at the steps leading up the ramp. "Yeah, I never thought I'd say it, but I miss this whole traveling through a wormhole to another planet thing."

"We have spoken of this matter before," Teal'c admonished his friend gently. "And we both know it will conclude in the same manner."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I have to like it," Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at the foot of the ramp, the metal wranged at his blow. "Does it?"

"It does not, my friend," Teal'c's face creased in a smile. "There is much to my life that I would prefer to be different, but . . ." his shrug spoke volumes.

"Ain't that the truth?" Jack shrugged, as his mind reviewed their history. "But we've always been up front with each other . . . right?"

Teal'c seemed to hesitate a moment, and inclined his head, "We have."

Jack paused a moment, and touched his friend's shoulder, then bent to speak in a voice meant only for his friend, "And there's nothing that I need to know? About those fifty years?"

Teal'c moved out of reach, his face closed and cold. "I have said it, and I do not wish to speak of it again."

Jack held out his hands, placating, "Sorry, I had to ask."

Teal'c was silent, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"And I won't bring it up again," Jack added, his voice husky with suppressed concern. Then he sobered, "About the Asgard, its true then? They're gone?"

Teal'c's stiff demeanor softened as the subject moved to safer ground. "They are, but Colonel Carter spoke with Thor before . . ."

"They killed themselves?"

"The blast that destroyed their world was quite spectacular, and left no hope of any survivors."

"Crap, I was hoping . . ." Jack shrugged, "Anyway, what was it that Carter said? Something about the Fifth Race?"

"Indeed, she did, O'Neill, Thor named the Tau'ri as having gained the title of the Fifth Race."

"I would've loved to have been there for that," Jack said solemnly, his eyes studied the cement floor, "Just to say . . ."

"Good-bye?"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean – me and those Roswell look-alikes – we go way back," Jack waved at the back wall with one hand, "we have history."

"I agree," Teal'c's smile was gone but his dark eyes glittered with pride and deep abiding respect for his friend. "You had the knowledge of the Ancients downloaded into your brain, not once, but two times. It was only through their intervention that you survived the encounters. In addition. it was to you that the Asgard turned when they sought a champion to represent your world. And it was the Asgard who brought it to our attention that you were more than you seemed." He smiled, and for once, his dark eyes seemed to glow with pleasure.

"Yeah, and what did all that get me? One huge honkin' headache and I still don't understand half of what I did then. And, as for the Asgard, well, look what happened to them. They're gone now, so I guess they were wrong about a whole lot of things."

A gentle breeze seemed to come out of nowhere that brought with it the scent of spice, reminding him of a Thanksgiving dinner complete with turkey, stuffing, and apple pie. It ruffled his hair and jacket playfully before it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.

His hands out of his pockets, Jack spun in place, as he tried to locate the source of the sudden gust of air. "What just happened here?"

"I do not understand," Teal'c replied.

"That little breeze," Jack studied his friend's face. "Didn't you feel it too?"

'Yes," he paused, "But am at a loss as to its explanation."

"Yeah, it's not as if somebody left the window open, not down here. And it reminded me of something . . ." he pursed his lips in thought, "but I can't quite put my finger on it . . ." Jack's words trailed off as he scrubbed his face with both hands and then shook them, imaginary droplets of tension and frustration raining down on the concrete floor. "Ah, it'll come to me."

"Perhaps after some nourishment?" both Teal'c's eyebrows rose and he gestured toward the cafeteria.

"Ah, yes, the cake!" Jack scrubbed his hands together with ill-concealed glee, "Or maybe even pie? We mustn't miss out on that."

Teal'c bowed his head with regal grace, "Indeed, we must not, O'Neill."

To Be Continued

oOo


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter glanced around the room, searching for the one man she had most wanted to see ever since they'd made it back to the SGC – Jack O'Neill. As she scanned the crowded commissary for his tall, lanky figure, complete with tufts of unruly hair stuck up on top of his head, she nibbled her lip nervously. _'He isn't here . . . but he and Teal'c were right behind us, weren't they?' _

"Looking for someone?" Daniel murmured into her ear.

"What?" Her taut nerves stuttered and her heart skipped a beat, "Oh, sorry." She blinked rapidly in an effort to regain some of the equilibrium she'd momentarily lost.

"Don't worry so much, Sam," Daniel chided gently with a smile, "And for your information, I saw him deep in conversation with Teal'c in the Gateroom."

She ducked her chin and blushed, her lips slightly parted, "Was I that obvious?"

"Yes," he grinned and seemed to be enjoying the moment way too much for Sam's peace of mind. "But that's only because I know you so well."

She couldn't stop herself from glancing at the still-closed double doors that led out of the room. "Yeah, well it has been quite a while, even if we don't count the fifty-plus years that we can't remember."

"Yeah, there is that," he paused and turned serious, "Speaking of those lost years, what do you think about that?" He crossed his arms in front of him, almost hugging himself with barely concealed apprehension.

"Why do you ask?" Sam responded with concern because she knew all too well that Daniel simply could not resist any sort of mystery, especially when it concerned what he might – or might not – have been doing for the period in question.

Because she understood the conundrum that the fifty years represented, she'd already decided that she would respect Teal'c's position. She realized that, for all intents and purposes, those fifty years had not happened to anyone but Teal'c, so her actions, and those of her shipmates, were purely rhetorical.

Like the conundrum posed by the question of Schrodinger's Cat – she knew the difference between what was real – and what was not. When it came down to it, it wasn't that important. What was important was that they had found a solution to their problem. However, that particular line of thought led to darker waters for Sam and she resolutely shied away from them, and instead focused on Daniel. He – and his curiosity – was the safer option for the moment.

As usual, she was not disappointed. With his opening question, Daniel was off and running, one arm crossed protectively in front of his chest, and the other hand gesturing and waving in her general direction. "You mean to tell me that you don't want to know what happened during those years that all of us were cooped up onboard the Odyssey?" His eyebrows did a Teal'c eyebrow imitation while he rubbed his chin and tried to look inscrutable. "You don't want to know what we did?"

Feeling the need to shield her Jaffa teammate from Daniel's zeal, Sam took a deep breath before she spoke, "Yes, I do wonder about that. I'd be a liar if I said that I didn't. But, Teal'c told us what we need to know: that I discovered a way to use the energy from the Ori's weapon to reverse time inside the bubble, disengage the ship's hyperdrive engines from the Asgard core, and take the Odyssey into a hyperspace window." She smiled as she tried to convince Daniel to let the matter – and Teal'c – alone. "Beyond that, it really doesn't matter, since it never happened to us; just to him."

From his expression, it was clear that Daniel wasn't convinced and his face twisted with frustration, "Yes, but I . . ."

She paused a moment in thought, as she remembered the signs of pain and regret that had flitted across the Jaffa's face while he spoke of their time onboard the Odyssey. They had occurred so quickly, that she had doubted – for a few seconds – what she had seen. However, because of her long, deep friendship with Teal'c, she knew that she had not imagined it, that his feelings were in all probability, very real, and very painful.

Sam laid her hand on Daniel's shoulder to get his attention, "Wait a minute and hear me out, Daniel. I totally agree with the idea that Teal'c should not – and cannot – tell us what happened. Not only that, according to what he's told us, we all agreed that he couldn't tell anyone the details of how we spent our lives during that time. Shouldn't we respect Teal'c and the decision that we all made?"

"Yes, but I . . ."

"Daniel," Sam pinned him with her blue eyes, totally serious in her intensity, "Has Teal'c ever given you a reason to doubt his word?"

Daniel paused, as he seemed to search his memory of their ten years together, "No, not really." He looked away from the force of her gaze. "He's always been upfront with me, even when he had to kill Sha're."

"Don't you think that it would take an incredibly strong person to carry the burden of all that knowledge, knowing that he could never reveal what he had seen us do – what we had all experienced?"

"You've got a point there," Daniel acknowledged, as he rubbed his chin and reached up to push his non-existent glasses back up his nose. "Í just can't help but wonder."

Sam sighed with mock exasperation and rolled her eyes, "Holy Hannah, Daniel Jackson is curious! So what else is new?"

Daniel did not seem to be amused and pouted, his arms crossed once again, shutting her out.

She relented and touched his arm, which caused him to relax a little, letting her in. That gave her the opening she'd hoped for.

"All I'm asking is for you to consider this," Sam replied evenly. "Before you start asking him a whole bunch of questions, I think you need to ask yourself why you're doing it; to satisfy your own insatiable curiosity, or for the greater good?"

Daniel's face wrinkled with thought, as he seemed to consider her words. "Are you saying that I shouldn't find out what happened?"

She shrugged, "I'm just saying that you need to consider the ramifications of what you're so set on doing?" Her head tilted to one side, "Did it occur to you that your questions might make it harder on someone who already has a pretty tough job to do? That your incessant questions would isolate Teal'c even more? Think about it, Daniel. He knows things about us that we will never know. He's seen us as we've never seen ourselves, trapped on a ship, without hope, lonely and getting older year after year."

For once, Daniel was silent. The sound of the doors opening drew Sam's attention like a magnet, and she smiled with relief to see Jack and Teal'c framed in the open doorway.

"There they are," she waved to get their attention. Then she addressed the still silent Daniel Jackson, "I can't tell you what to do, but I'd like you to think about what I've said."

Daniel shrugged and looked uncomfortable, and Sam had to leave it at that. She just hoped that Jackson would respect Teal'c's decision and heed her words.

There had been an upside to their conversation though. If nothing else, Daniel's questions had distracted her from her own ruminations about what must have occurred. Even though he hadn't said it, Teal'c had implied that the burden to discover a solution to their dilemma had been laid primarily on her shoulders and that she had worked on that for over fifty years. He had stressed that it had been her efforts that had ultimately saved them, the Odyssey, and everything that the Asgard had given them_. _

She tried to compare a fifty-year stretch of working to solve a seemingly insurmountable riddle with others she'd deciphered in the past, such as when Jack had disappeared for months, but the sheer expanse of time defeated her. After all, fifty years was a very, very long time, longer than she had been alive. And the thought of working on nothing but that one thing for that long was an idea that she could not wrap her mind around.

'_So, there was no pressure_ _there,'_ she thought with a grimace. _'It wasn't as if I haven't_ _pulled a rabbit out of my butt before; but the responsibility was primarily on my shoulders. Not only that, this was no abstract lab experiment and all our lives depended on it. It was up to me – Samantha Jean Carter – to produce yet another_ _miracle and the absolute need to succeed must have been horrendous. I can't help but wonder how I did it? What I found to keep me going without Jack there to encourage me? Did I find someone else? Or get a hobby? And just how did I do it? Teal'c said the Asgard didn't think it could be done.'_

The very idea made her fingers itch to run through the new Asgard data to figure out just how she had done it. If Jack weren't here now, she would have already been in her lab, running through the schematics, trying to figure out what she had already figured out . . . she sighed and rubbed her forehead. The paradox made her head hurt; and for once, she agreed with Jack when he said that all that time stuff was way too complicated sometimes.

'_There will_ _be time for that later, after I have some private time with Jack,' _she resolved silently and smiled, putting it out of her mind for now.

Sam made her way through the personnel, "General O'Neill," she called and was gratified to see his silvery head jerk around to home in on her voice. He grinned when he located her and made his way to her side.

"I was beginning to wonder if something had come up," Sam smiled as she avidly drank in the sight of him clad in his Class A uniform. He looked fit, and certainly did things to the uniform that she, as a woman, could appreciate.

"Ah, shucks, Carter," he dimpled. "Nothing could keep me from this little shindig. And of course there is the cake . . . and other stuff."

"Stuff, sir?" Her blue eyes sparkled as he seemed at a loss for words.

"You know, cake, seeing old friends . . ." his hand took in the assemblage, "stuff like that, Carter." He shrugged and grinned.

"This must be some shindig to get you all dressed up in your Class A's, sir," she stepped back to give an appreciative smirk. "Did General Jumper have to order you to wear them?"

"No," he looked injured and then softened, "It came from higher-up . . . Ida as a matter of fact."

She grinned, "That high, huh? Remind me to thank her."

"Yeah, well, there are good reasons for wearing this monkey suit, and then there are even better ones."

"General O'Neill!" Both Sam and Jack's faces turned and homed in on General Landry. "Would you get over here before I have a riot on my hands?" He waved them urgently from his position next to the buffet table on the far side of the room.

Jack ducked his head toward Sam and whispered. "Don't look now, but I think I'm on."

"I understand, sir," Sam replied with a smile. "Want me to come with?"

"Yeah, sureyabetcha," he smirked as they both stepped forward. "I think it's time for speeches and some cake."

"Here he is, the man who provided the cake for this celebration," General Landry called out in the midst of a sprinkling of applause. "And I couldn't have said it better myself," he added as he indicated the large sheet cake laid out awaiting the knife.

It was adorned with the emblem of the SGC, done in blue, red, black, and gold against a creamy white frosting. The words, 'welcome home' were emblazoned below it.

"It's about time you got here, Jack." Hank said once Jack was standing at his side, "I had to protect this masterpiece at the risk of life and limb. It would have been a sorry sight indeed if I had survived the worst the Ori could throw at us, only to become a victim of a food riot right here at the SGC," he grinned savagely, seemingly non-repentant at his attempt to put Jack on a guilt trip.

Jack gazed at him for a moment, "No, that wouldn't do at all now, would it, Hank? So, let's get on with it, cut the danged thing."

Hank held out the knife, "You want to do the honors, Jack?"

Jack took the knife and looked at the cake, then paused. "No, I think someone else has earned that right, the one that got you all home." Jack held the knife out to Sam.

Sam shook her head, "Not me, sir. Teal'c. He's the one who sacrificed the most, he got us home."

Hank and Jack exchanged looks and then Jack nodded. "Teal'c!"

He jumped when Teal'c seemed to appear at his side. "You called, O'Neill"?"

Jack looked at him with a stern expression. "How did you do that?"

"To what are you referring?" Teal'c was doing the eyebrow thing and seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Sneaking up on me," Jack sounded exasperated, "That's what."

"It was not subterfuge," Teal'c replied with the hint of a smile. "I believe your attention was otherwise engaged."

"So it was, so it was," Jack sighed, "You wanna cut the cake or not, T?"

"I am quite willing to slice this culinary confection," Teal'c took the knife from Jacks' hand and turned to the cake.

"It's about time," Landry muttered, "But first a short speech from you, Jack."

"Moi?" Jack patted his chest and looked embarrassed. "Short, you say?"

Sam smiled and held her finger close to her thumb, "very, sir."

"I can do short." Jack smirked, "After all, there is cake."

He looked around at the people gathered in the room, and Sam could not help but notice the hint of wistfulness that washed over his face as he gazed out at the people assembled there. It was gone quickly though and he turned his attention to the task at hand.

"May I have your attention, please?"

A hush fell over the room as everyone turned to face him, their faces alight with expectation, "General Landry insisted I give you a speech, but I'll keep it short because I know you all have jobs to do . . . and cake to eat." He grinned and listened to the good-natured laughter.

"All of you are aware of what your commander, the members of SG-1, and the crew of the Odyssey have accomplished. But I want to tell you that all this was made possible by some friends of mine who are no longer with us . . . The Asgard. Now I realize that not everyone here knew Thor and the rest of his little gray buddies like I did, but rest assured that they were the good guys and took our side against a whole gaggle of bad guys right from the start."

He hesitated, half expecting to be beamed up, and when it didn't happen, he continued. "So I'd like to propose a toast," he paused as Sam handed him a glass of punch.

He raised it on high and smiled tightly, "To old friends, absent but not forgotten."

"To old friends, absent but not forgotten," the rest of the room chorused. Jack took a sip of his drink. "I'm hungry, let's eat some cake."

oOo

Teal'c watched as Colonel Carter and O'Neill spoke to each other. They were together once again and looked so natural that it filled him with a sense of peace. What had passed between himself and Colonel Carter during their sojourn aboard the Odyssey – as they offered comfort and encouragement to each other – did not matter. It was as if it had never been, because for her, it had never occurred.

Though he could remember the joys and sorrows as if it were only yesterday, he could share only a very small portion with his friends. Though it left him feeling very isolated and alone, he had shouldered this burden with the full knowledge that only he was capable of carrying it. And he knew that any untoward revelations would only hurt his dearest friends.

He sighed, and moved away from the center of attention. Knowing Vala and Daniel from their years together, he suspected that they would not accept his reticence to disclose how they had wiled away the long years. To cope with their incessant curiosity, he had resolved to take refuge in his meditation. That ritual would enable him to shut out their questions and find some inner peace for himself.

He would miss the haunting melodies of Colonel Carter's cello though. And if there were a way for him to steer her in the direction of re-learning to play the instrument, he would do so. But it would be a difficult task, simply because she was extremely adept at discerning his moods and thoughts. And, because it involved a game of wits against so worthy an opponent, he would gladly undertake such a task.

When he perceived Vala's approach, a look of absolute determination on her face, he moved toward the table, where O'Neill and Colonel Carter were speaking with General Landry.

"I have not yet tasted of your confection, O'Neill," Teal'c reached for a plate that was dwarfed by its piece of cake.

"By all means, T. Partake, consume, make merry," O'Neill replied as he moved to one side, the better for Teal'c to slide in next to him. By an unspoken agreement, Colonel Carter moved to flank him, becoming part of a human shield to stand between Vala and her intended victim – Teal'c.

"Holy Hannah, sir," she said, her tongue flicking out to taste the frosting lingering on the corner of her mouth. "This is delicious."

Jack bent to whisper in Teal'c's ear, "I see that Vala isn't wasting any time."

Teal'c held his cake in front of him, fork poised in mid-air. "Indeed."

His face remained impassive, concealing his disquiet as his fork finished its journey to his mouth. He timed it so that the cake in his mouth prevented further speech.

"Hey Muscles," Vala gushed with a bright smile. "I've been looking all over for you."

Teal'c remained silent but chewed on his cake and motioned meaningfully to his full mouth.

"Don't give me that," Vala teased, her dark eyes sparkled with determination. "Give it up, Teal'c. Don't try the innocent look with me. I'm the one person it won't work with."

Teal'c lifted one eyebrow, "Whatever do you mean?"

Hands on her hips, she glared at him, "You know what I mean, Muscles." Then she turned playful and mock punched him on the shoulder. "Besides, you've got something I want."

O'Neill smirked and put his hand on Teal'c's shoulder, "Whoa there, big fellah, sounds like she's got the hots for you."

Grateful for what he knew was his friend's deliberate misinterpretation of Vala's statement; Teal'c chose his answer with care, "I, however, do not see you as a potential mate."

Colonel Carter sputtered, cake and frosting spattering them all and then coughed, a suspiciously evil glint in her eyes. O'Neill, seemingly impervious to Vala's murderous expression, smirked and didn't seem to mind that she could see the expression of glee on his face.

Vala wiped at her face with disdain, sweet crumbs clung to her face and neck, "Anybody got a napkin? I could use one."

Without a word, Teal'c handed her one and then turned away. "I am in need of kel-nor-reem."

"I'm not finished with you yet, Muscles," Vala warned as she wiped at her face. "Besides, I know you don't need to do that anymore."

"I don't think you get it, Vala," O'Neill said with a warning glint in his eye. "I think the T-man is not interested in whatever it is that you want from him."

"All I want is some information," she wheedled as Teal'c made his way through the crowd toward the door and his quarters.

Teal'c continued on his way, comforted by the defense that his friends, O'Neill and Colonel Carter had staged on his behalf. Though they would not always be there to deflect her insatiable curiosity, the time they had just bought would enable him to make his escape for now. He knew beyond any doubt that Vala would return with her questions, He now was afforded the time to recover his sense of balance that this latest venture had disturbed.

He had done his duty by appearing for the requisite time at the festivities. From long association with the Tau'ri, he knew that no one would think ill of him if he retired early and returned to the relative peace of his quarters.

oOo

To Be Continued


End file.
